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Enid wakes before her alarm, which is rare enough that she blinks at the ceiling for a moment, confused. The dorm is quiet—the kind of quiet that only exists early in the morning, before anyone else at Nevermore has decided to start causing chaos.
Soft light filters through her rainbow curtains, painting the room in pastel stripes.
She shifts, stretching her legs under the blankets—and that’s when she feels it. A weight. Warm. Solid. Unmoving.
Wednesday Addams is curled against her side, one hand loosely gripping the edge of Enid’s blanket like she’s claiming it as evidence in a crime scene. Her dark hair spills across Enid’s shoulder, and her breathing is slow, steady, and peaceful in a way Enid rarely gets to witness.
Enid smiles, the kind of smile that starts small and then grows until her whole face feels warm. She brushes a thumb over Wednesday’s knuckles.
“Morning, Weds,” she whispers.
Wednesday doesn’t move.
“You’re too loud.”
Enid snorts softly. “I didn’t even say anything yet.”
“You were preparing to.”
Enid giggles, and Wednesday’s brow twitches—the tiniest sign she’s awake but refusing to commit to it. Enid shifts just enough to face her, their noses almost touching.
Wednesday finally opens one eye, and there it is: that soft, secret expression she only ever shows Enid. Not a smile, but something gentler than neutrality.
“You look cute when you sleep,” Enid murmurs.
Wednesday’s other eye opens, offended. “I do not sleep. I enter a state of temporary unconsciousness.”
“Uh‑huh. And in that state, you snuggle.”
“I do not snuggle.”
“You’re literally holding my blanket hostage.”
Wednesday glances down at her hand, still gripping the moon‑embroidered edge. She releases it immediately, as if it has betrayed her. “It was cold.”
Enid beams. “You could just ask to share.”
“I would rather perish.”
“Sure you would.”
Wednesday sighs—the long, dramatic kind she only uses when she’s pretending she’s not fond of something. She shifts closer, tucking her head under Enid’s chin like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Enid freezes for a moment, surprised, then melts, wrapping her arms around Wednesday’s shoulders.
“You’re warm,” Wednesday mutters.
“You’re cuddly,” Enid counters.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I will deny this in any court of law.”
Enid laughs, soft and breathy, and presses a kiss to the top of Wednesday’s head.
Wednesday doesn’t pull away. In fact, she relaxes—just a little—her fingers tracing absentminded patterns on Enid’s arm. It’s slow, rhythmic, almost tender.
They lie there in silence, the kind that feels full rather than empty. Enid listens to Wednesday’s breathing, the steady rise and fall against her chest. She could stay like this forever.
After a while, Wednesday speaks again, voice quiet. “You woke up early.”
“Yeah. Weird, right?”
“I dislike it.”
Enid grins. “Why?”
“Because it means you had time to think before I woke up.”
“And that’s bad because…?”
“You think loudly.”
Enid snorts. “You love it.”
Wednesday lifts her head just enough to meet Enid’s eyes. “I tolerate it.”
Enid’s heart does that fizzy, glowing thing it always does when Wednesday says something that’s basically a love confession in Addams‑speak. She cups Wednesday’s cheek gently, brushing her thumb along her jaw.
“You’re sweet in the mornings,” Enid whispers.
Wednesday narrows her eyes. “Do not spread that rumor.”
“No promises.”
Wednesday huffs, but she doesn’t move away. Instead, she shifts again, sliding one leg over Enid’s like she’s anchoring herself there.
Enid’s breath catches—not because it’s romantic or dramatic, but because it’s so casual. So comfortable. So them.
“Stay a little longer?” Enid asks softly.
Wednesday closes her eyes. “I wasn’t planning on moving.”
Enid smiles into her hair. “Good.”
They stay like that, wrapped up in each other, the morning stretching out slow and golden around them. Wednesday’s fingers keep tracing those soft patterns on Enid’s arm, and Enid keeps holding her like she’s something precious.
And Wednesday—for once—lets herself be held.
Eventually, the sunlight creeps far enough across the room that it brushes Wednesday’s cheek. She scrunches her nose, annoyed at the intrusion, and buries her face deeper into Enid’s shoulder.
Enid bites back a laugh. “You’re like a cat,” she murmurs.
Wednesday’s voice is muffled. “Cats are fickle, unpredictable creatures with a penchant for violence. I accept the comparison.”
Enid grins. “You’re adorable.”
Wednesday lifts her head just enough to glare. “Retract that statement.”
“Nope.”
Wednesday sighs—the long, suffering kind—and sits up slowly, her hair falling in soft waves around her face. Enid watches her, chin propped on her hand, heart doing that fluttery thing again.
Wednesday notices the staring. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m… aesthetically pleasing.”
Enid beams. “But you are.”
Wednesday opens her mouth, probably to deliver a scathing retort, but instead she just… blushes. Barely. A faint dusting of pink across her pale cheeks.
Enid’s breath catches.
Wednesday clears her throat. “We should eat.”
“You mean you should eat,” Enid teases. “You forget half the time.”
“I do not forget. I simply prioritize more important tasks.”
“Like cuddling me?”
Wednesday freezes. “That was… warmth conservation.”
“Sure it was.”
Enid hops out of bed, her hair a fluffy halo, and pads across the room to grab her slippers.
Wednesday watches her with that quiet, unreadable expression she gets when she’s feeling something she doesn’t have the vocabulary for yet.
“Come on,” Enid says, offering her hand. “Breakfast date.”
Wednesday eyes the hand like it’s a trap. Then, with a tiny sigh, she takes it—her fingers cool, her grip firm.
Enid’s heart practically somersaults.
They walk down the hallway together, Wednesday pretending she’s only holding Enid’s hand for “stability on uneven flooring,” even though the floor is perfectly flat. Enid doesn’t call her out on it. She just squeezes gently, and Wednesday squeezes back.
In the cafeteria, Enid piles her tray with colorful fruit and pastries. Wednesday selects a single black coffee and a slice of toast so dry it could be used as a weapon.
“You know,” Enid says, sliding into the seat across from her, “you’re allowed to enjoy food.”
“I enjoy efficiency.”
“You enjoy my cookies.”
Wednesday pauses mid‑sip. “They are… tolerable.”
“You ate six.”
“I was conducting a thorough analysis.”
Enid laughs, bright and warm, and Wednesday’s eyes soften in that way she tries so hard to hide.
They eat in comfortable silence, Enid swinging her feet under the table, Wednesday pretending not to notice when their knees brush.
When they’re done, Enid leans forward, chin in her hands. “So… what’s the plan for today?”
Wednesday considers. “I have no pressing obligations.”
“Meaning…?”
Wednesday looks away, almost shy. “Meaning I am… available.”
Enid’s smile could power the entire school. “Then you’re spending the day with me.”
Wednesday doesn’t argue. She just nods, slow and deliberate, like she’s agreeing to something monumental.
“Very well.”
Enid reaches across the table and takes her hand again—openly this time, no excuses, no pretending. Wednesday’s fingers curl around hers without hesitation.
And for the first time all morning, Wednesday smiles. Small. Barely there. But for Enid, it’s surreal.
After breakfast, they step outside into the crisp Nevermore air. The sky is bright but not too bright—the kind of day Enid calls “perfect for adventures” and Wednesday calls “tolerably non‑offensive.”
Enid loops her arm through Wednesday’s as they walk across the courtyard. Wednesday doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t comment on it either, which is basically a declaration of devotion in Wednesday‑speak.
“Library?” Enid suggests.
Wednesday tilts her head. “You intend to read?”
“I intend to sit near you while you read.”
“That is acceptable.”
They settle into Wednesday’s favorite corner of the library—the one tucked behind a tall shelf of obscure folklore books. Wednesday pulls out a thick, ancient volume. Enid pulls out a sketchbook covered in stickers.
For a while, the only sound is the soft turning of pages and Enid’s pencil scratching lightly across paper. Wednesday glances up occasionally, pretending she’s just adjusting her posture, but really she’s watching the way Enid’s tongue pokes out when she concentrates.
After a few minutes, Enid scoots closer.
“What are you drawing?” Wednesday asks without looking up.
“You.”
Wednesday freezes. “Why?”
“Because you’re pretty.”
Wednesday blinks, caught off guard. “That is… subjective.”
“It’s my sketchbook. My subjectivity wins.”
Enid flips the book around to show her. It’s a soft pencil drawing of Wednesday reading, her hair falling over one shoulder, her expression focused and serene.
Wednesday stares at it longer than she means to. “It’s… accurate,” she finally says.
Enid beams. “That’s basically a compliment.”
Wednesday clears her throat and returns to her book, but her ears are pink.
After an hour, Enid stretches dramatically. “Okay, break time. My brain needs sunshine.”
Wednesday closes her book with a soft thud. “Sunshine is overrated.”
“You like me.”
“That is unrelated.”
Enid laughs and tugs her toward the quad.
They find a quiet patch of grass under a tree.
Enid lies down immediately, arms spread wide. Wednesday sits beside her, legs crossed, posture perfect.
“Lie down with me,” Enid says.
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
Enid reaches up, grabs Wednesday’s wrist gently, and gives a tiny tug.
Wednesday sighs—long, theatrical—and lowers herself onto the grass beside her.
The moment she’s down, Enid scoots closer until their shoulders touch.
Wednesday pretends not to notice, but she shifts just enough that their arms brush too.
The breeze rustles the leaves above them. Students chatter in the distance. It’s peaceful in a way Wednesday rarely allows herself to experience.
Enid turns her head. “You okay?”
Wednesday’s eyes stay on the sky. “I am… content.”
Enid’s breath catches. “That’s a big word for you.”
“It is accurate.”
Enid reaches over and threads their fingers together. Wednesday’s hand tightens around hers almost immediately, instinctive and unguarded.
They lie there for a long time, watching clouds drift by. Enid points out shapes—a wolf, a cupcake, a lopsided heart.
Wednesday claims they all look like “amorphous blobs,” but she squeezes Enid’s hand every time she laughs.
Eventually, Enid rolls onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. “Hey, Weds?”
Wednesday turns her head slightly. “Yes?”
“Thanks for spending the day with me.”
Wednesday studies her for a moment, eyes softening. “You make it… tolerable.”
Enid grins. “You’re such a romantic.”
Wednesday huffs, but she doesn’t let go of her hand. Not even for a second.
After a long while lying under the tree, Enid rolls onto her back again, letting the sunlight warm her face.
Wednesday remains on her side, propped up on one elbow, watching her with an expression that’s far too soft for someone who claims to despise sentimentality.
“You’re staring,” Enid says without opening her eyes.
“You’re making it difficult not to.”
Enid’s eyes flutter open, and she turns her head to look at Wednesday. “That’s basically flirting.”
“It is an observation.”
“Uh‑huh.”
Wednesday looks away, but her lips twitch—the closest she gets to a smile when she’s trying to hide it.
A breeze rustles the leaves above them, scattering little patches of sunlight across Wednesday’s face.
Enid reaches up and gently brushes a strand of hair behind Wednesday’s ear.
Wednesday freezes, not because she dislikes it, but because she’s still not used to being touched so tenderly.
“You’re really pretty in the sun,” Enid murmurs.
Wednesday’s voice is quiet. “I prefer the dark.”
“I know. But you look good in both.”
Wednesday doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t pull away either. Instead, she shifts closer until their shoulders touch again.
After a few minutes, Enid sits up. “Okay. I want ice cream.”
Wednesday blinks. “It is January.”
“And?”
“It is cold.”
“Not to me.”
Wednesday sighs. “Fine. But if I perish from hypothermia, I expect you to avenge me.”
Enid laughs and stands, offering her hand.
Wednesday takes it without hesitation this time.
They walk to the small student café near the quad. Enid orders a towering swirl of rainbow sherbet. Wednesday orders nothing.
“You’re not getting anything?” Enid asks.
“I do not consume frozen sugar.”
“You ate my strawberry gelato last week.”
“That was… research.”
“Research on what?”
Wednesday looks away. “Flavor profiles.”
Enid grins and hands her the cone. “Here. One bite.”
Wednesday eyes it like it’s a suspicious artifact, then leans in and takes the tiniest possible bite. She chews slowly, analyzing it like a scientist.
“Well?” Enid asks.
“It is… acceptable.”
Enid beams. “You like it.”
“I tolerate it.”
“You like it.”
Wednesday takes another small bite. “It is… less offensive than expected.”
Enid laughs so hard she nearly drops the cone.
They wander back outside, sharing the ice cream as they walk.
Wednesday pretends she’s only taking bites to “prevent waste,” but she ends up eating half of it.
When they reach the courtyard again, Enid spots an empty bench under a willow tree. “Sit with me?”
Wednesday nods, and they settle side by side.
Enid leans her head on Wednesday’s shoulder, and Wednesday stiffens for a moment before relaxing into it.
“You know,” Enid says softly, “I like days like this.”
Wednesday glances down at her. “Days like what?”
“Days where you’re… here. With me. Not solving mysteries or chasing monsters or threatening people.”
“I can threaten people if you’d like.”
Enid laughs. “Maybe later.”
Wednesday’s hand moves, almost unconsciously, until her fingers brush against Enid’s.
Enid turns her hand palm‑up, offering.
Wednesday hesitates only a second before intertwining their fingers.
It’s quiet for a long time. Peaceful. The kind of quiet that feels like a shared secret.
Eventually, Wednesday speaks. “I do not dislike this.”
Enid smiles. “That’s your way of saying you’re happy.”
“I did not say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Wednesday looks away, but her thumb gently strokes the back of Enid’s hand—a tiny, unconscious motion that betrays everything she won’t say out loud.
After a while, Enid shifts, resting her head fully against Wednesday’s shoulder.
Wednesday adjusts her posture so Enid fits more comfortably against her.
“You’re warm,” Enid murmurs.
“You are using me as a pillow.”
“You love it.”
Wednesday doesn’t argue. She just lets her head rest lightly against Enid’s hair.
The afternoon drifts on like that—slow, golden, and soft. Students pass by, but no one bothers them. It feels like the world has shrunk to just the two of them, tucked under the willow tree, hands intertwined, hearts beating in quiet sync.
Eventually, Enid whispers, “Can we stay like this a little longer?”
Wednesday squeezes her hand. “Yes.”
And they do. In fact, they never really stop. They will always have each other.
Later that night, Wednesday Addams whispers words like a poem too afraid to be heard.
She speaks, her voice low and deliberate, as if each word is carved from something ancient.
“I love you to the moon and back—not the gentle orb you adore, but the desolate kingdom of shadow that surrounds it. I would traverse that eternal night, let its silence devour me, and still claw my way home to you. My devotion is not soft; it is sovereign. Even the void yields when it knows whom I return to.”
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This lowkey had no plot x(